Saving The Girl In The Braids
by Just-Like-Ginny
Summary: Step into Peeta's mind during various parts of the Hunger Games series. What was the boy with the bread thinking while we were in the head of the girl in the braids, as he seems to call her? *SPOILERS from all three Hunger Games books*
1. Author's Note

Welcome to my collection of Hunger Games scenes from Peeta's point of view. I have always had a connection with Peeta and he started taking over my head with his thoughts during different parts of the series. So I decided to share his thoughts with all of you.

If you read my story, "It's What We Do", you will find it again in here. I apologize for the repetition, but I wanted that story included in this collection.

These stories will _not_ be appearing in order, though I might put them in order once I complete them all. In fact, the first one I wrote was the last one chronologically.

* * *

><p>The following is the list of the different scenes I plan to be writing. Hopefully the actual chapters will have better titles.<p>

_The First Reaping_

_Train (first time Peeta actually talks to Katniss)_

_Beginning of the Victory Tour (pretending to be close to Katniss)_

_Quarter Quell Announcement_

_Tunnel (from Mockingjay- "You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real.")_

_Train Ride to Quarter Quell_

_Katniss is Hurt (peacekeepers... "always")_

_Gale's Whipping (after)_

_Assassination_

* * *

><p>Some more might appear as I think of them, but that is what I have planned at this moment. Again, definitely not in that order.<p>

I hope you enjoy it! Please review! (I might even take into account what scene you say you want next)


	2. It's What We Do

This is the first story I wrote for this collection. Some of you might have already read it- it was separate from the collection for a bit of time, but I wanted to add it in. Sorry to those of you that have already read it.

* * *

><p>I may still not quite understand Katniss the way I used to think I did, but I can't wrap my head around this. How could she vote for a 76th Hunger Games after everything we've been through? And Haymitch—he's seen even more than we have. How can he stand by and let it happen again?<p>

I am shuffled out into the City Circle with my fellow victors amongst other people that have been deemed of some importance. A moment later, Coin steps onto the balcony to sincere applause. A fit of anger rips through me—this whole thing was her idea. She wants more children to see the horrors I have seen. And my friends, though I'm still not sure I can call them that—I'm not sure if I ever really could—are going along with her game.

My fists clench as I try to control the anger rushing through me. Fuzzy, shiny images rush into my head. I can't let them in. My hands are pulling away from each other before I remember I have no cuffs to protect me against the memories. I stare at the scars on my wrist as another applause breaks into my ears—Katniss has appeared.

She takes her spot on the stage. She seems to be concentrating on something. I take a breath and release my fists, now rubbing the scars on my wrists and watching the Mockingjay. I wonder what all those she cares about would think of her right now—those she claims to live for. To win for.

Snow appears and the crowd is even louder. He looks like he might fall over even without an arrow. He kneels on the ground and is tethered to a post. He watches Katniss closely as she grabs an arrow and puts it in place, aiming for the white rose over his heart.

She is staring at Snow as if searching for something. He is coughing, but she is staring into his eyes. Her own seem to flash a fiery orange and time slows as I finally understand what is about to happen.

"_I vote yes . . . for Prim." _She never wanted another Game. She just needed Coin to know she was still furious. And now she takes aim at Snow, flickering ever so slightly.

"_I'm with the Mockingjay."_ As always, Haymitch seems to understand Katniss in a way nobody else can. He knew this would happen long before I did.

The arrow changes direction and I rush forward as Katniss lets go. Coin falls over the edge of the balcony. I am trying to run, but I can't seem to move. It takes me forever to reach her. The soldiers are lifting her and she is struggling against them. But I know her next move.

I reach out and grab the secret compartment of her suit before she has a chance to react. Her teeth bite down on my hand. She looks up at me in confusion and our eyes lock—her fire sill burning.

"Let me go!" she demands, but I am far away, remembering something else she told me. _"Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other."_ I was in a state of confusion at the time, but now it makes sense. It doesn't mean we're in love. It doesn't even mean we have to like each other. It's just what we do.

"I can't," I say, my voice hallow. She looks betrayed. The fire extinguishing. But I am giving her the same chance she gave to me. I can't let her take the one thing I have. My hand tightens around the hidden compartment as she is yanked away and it breaks off. Her heartbroken eyes follow the purple pill as it falls to the ground at my feet.

I watch as she is pulled away from me, once again, unsure if I will see her again. I glance down at my hand to see a trickle of blood from her teeth marks. I look up again at the last moment, catching her grey eyes one more time before she disappears into darkness, perhaps forever.


	3. Someone Special

I chance a glance at her as Effie Trinket pauses in her speech. She is looking in my direction. No, not mine—his. He is standing about ten feet behind me with the other eighteen-year-olds that are almost safe from this disturbing process. She has a dark look about her and I find myself wondering how many times his name is in the glass ball. It must be a lot, from the look on her face as she tears her eyes away from him. I wonder what would happen if—no. Nobody deserves that. And she would be ruined for eternity.

"Ladies first!" Effie says, and I am pulled back to the Reaping as she moves toward the girls' glass ball. Without hesitation or a thought, she digs her hand deep into the ball and she pulls out a small white paper. The crowd is silent as she opens it and studies the name. I glance back at Katniss as Effie crosses to the podium—she is holding her breath. I must be, too. "Primrose Everdeen," Effie announces.

There's a collective gasp and I am searching for her, again. She seems to have disappeared. But then I see her being supported by the boy next to her. The crowd is growing louder—angry voices. She looks around for her sister and finds her stepping toward the stage. She's shaking. They both are.

"Prim!" she screams after her sister passes her on her way to the stage. "Prim!" The sea of children parts, creating an opening for her to walk straight toward the stage. She runs forward catching her sister just before she mounts the stage and pushing her behind her back. "I volunteer!" she shrieks. She's struggling to seem strong. "I volunteer as tribute!"

This can't be real. In an hour she'll be gone—on her way to the Capitol along with any chance I ever had to talk to her. I hear there's time for close friends and families to visit with the tributes before they leave. Would she kick me out if I tried to see her? Would I even get the chance? There will be a line a mile long to see her, especially after what she just pulled.

"Lovely!" Effie says with a sincere smile. She does not understand. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um …" she trails off.

"What does it matter?" the mayor asks, staring at her. He has a pained expression on his face. Nobody has volunteered to take another's place in District 12 in a very long time. I can't even remember hearing about the last time someone has stepped forward to take another's place in the Games in the District. What she has just done is an act of suicide—taking her sister's place—the act of a martyr. "What does it matter?" he repeats, "Let her come forward."

But she can't. Her sister is pulling her back, begging her not to go. "No, Katniss! No!" Katniss is breathing heavily, trying to push her off and keep her composure. "You can't go!"

"Prim, let go," she orders in an attempt to stay strong. She is starting to tremble, though that could be from her sister's shaking arms. "Let go!"

And then he's there, pulling the little girl away from her, speaking quietly to her with a nod toward the stage, and carrying the sister away. She turns, takes one last deep breath, and steps firmly up the steps and onto the stage.

"Well, Bravo!" Effie exclaims as Katniss approaches her. "That's the spirit of the games!" She places an arm around Katniss, who keeps a perfectly straight face, void of any emotion. "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," she says in a flat voice.

A small smile appears on Effie's face. "I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" Is she serious? Does she really see this as some game for glory? Doesn't she realize that of the 146 tributes that have gone into the Games from District 12, only two have returned? Doesn't she see that even those two have been scarred beyond any repair? Does she really think she stepped forward for her own benefit? "Come on, everyone!" she speaks to the crowd in an attempt to excite them. "Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

I don't lift a finger. And neither does anyone else. We all stand there silently as Effie looks around, waiting for the applause to begin. Her smile flickers as she struggles to keep it in place through the silence and unmoving crowd. Finally, a man I think I have seen with Katniss's father years before puts three fingers to his lips and holds them out toward Katniss. A woman a few yards away follows in the same action. Then some more. I lift my hand to follow as more and more join in. Eventually the whole of District 12 has their three fingers held out to her—a tradition rarely to used that shows admiration, love, and appreciation for someone truly special.

* * *

><p>It was my first day of school. I was five years old and my dad insisted on bringing me in. I was glad- my brothers would have just tried to scare me, but my dad would be nice. We were standing outside the school waiting for a line that was supposed to form before we could enter.<p>

My dad nudged me as a little girl stepped toward the spot where the line would be forming. She looked my age, wearing a red plaid dress and her dark hair split in two braids down the back of her head. She was by herself—I guessed her father was stuck working in a mine and her mother was either working or dealing with a younger child. But she didn't seem afraid like I felt. She seemed used to being on her own.

"See that little girl?" my father asked me, nodding toward the girl I was already watching. "I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner." The shock hit me hard. Who would choose a coal miner over a baker?

"A coal miner?" I asked, confused. "Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?" It didn't make sense.

Dad chuckled. "Because when he sings …" I looked up to find him smiling lightly, "even the birds stop to listen." That was when the line formed and I had to leave him. He assured me he would be there to pick me up when I got out of school and I left, still thinking about the silence of the birds.

I didn't really understand until later that day, when we had music assembly. The teacher asked who in our class knew the valley song and the girl with the braids raised her hand in the air immediately.

"Well, come on, then. Let's hear it." She motioned for the girl to step onto a stool she had placed in front of the class. The girl stepped forward with the same confidence she had shown outside. This girl had no fear. She stepped right onto the stool and began to sing.

I didn't catch a word of the song. I had no idea what it was about or why we had to hear it in school. All I heard was her voice and silence—nobody spoke over her voice. And the birds—every bird outside the window stopped chirping to listen.

I looked back to the girl with a new understanding. A voice like that is greater than food, greater than money. I instantly had something in common with her mother—willing to give everything I had up in an instant for a chance to be closer to it. And this girl. One thing was certain: this girl was special.

* * *

><p>The crowd seems to now agree with what I have known for eleven years. Even a twelve-year-old usually does not have siblings willing to step forward for them. Mine wouldn't have.<p>

The next thing anyone knows, Haymitch Abernathy, the only living victor from District 12, stumbles toward her to give his congratulations, if you could call it that. "Look at her. Look at this one!" he exclaims, putting an arm around her as she attempts to back away from him after catching a whiff of his breath. "I like her!" He is holding her. She seems to be trying to keep a straight face, but some disgust shows up. "Lots of …" he can't seem to think of the word. "Spunk!" he finally finishes and looks toward the cameras. "More than you!" he lets go of Katniss and moves forward to the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts now, pointing right into a camera.

What is he doing? Is he talking to the Capitol, insulting the people watching cozily in their homes? Does he really have the courage to do that? If anyone does, it's him—he's a victor. And in his drunken state, it wouldn't be surprising. Rumor is he's lost everything to the Capitol. That's why he's always alone now.

He seems like he is about to speak again, but falls off the front of the stage. He isn't moving. He better be okay. I can't imagine Katniss moving forward in these Games without even having a mentor. Yet maybe she'd be even better. She's been taking care of herself for so long, already.

With almost every eye and certainly every camera watching Haymitch, I look back to the girl on the stage. She takes the opportunity to take a deep breath and wipe at her eyes without drawing attention. A stretcher appears to carry Haymitch out of the square.

"What an exciting day!" Effie says, fixing her wig and attempting to bring the attention back to the stage. "But more excitement to come!" She holds her arms out as if inviting the audience for a hug. Her wig shifts again and she reaches a hand up to catch it. "It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She crosses to the second glass ball. Skipping the dramatics in an attempt to keep the reaping from being completely disastrous, she grabs the first paper her hand touches this time. There is no pause, no build-up, as she simply reads "Peeta Mellark."

It doesn't register at first. Peeta Mellark. The name sounds foreign, then vaguely familiar, before I realize it's mine. Heads are starting to turn my way as it sinks in. I was so distraught over Katniss I hadn't even considered I might be going with her.

I step toward the stage and look toward my brother, in his last year of this danger. He is looking in the opposite direction, away from me, relief on his face. Relief. There will be no running forward to take my place. He is safe.

I don't understand how Katniss seemed so calm as she did this minutes ago. My feet feel like bricks as I force them forward. My entire body is shaking, though I am trying my hardest to hide it. I need to be strong. Weakness will not help my chances. Not that I really have any chances.

I climb up onto the stage, somehow managing to keep my balance. I find my spot feet away from Katniss and don't look at her. I know now that she is looking at me. I don't want to see however she is looking at me right now. I guess the question of visiting her before she leaves is gone, now. I guess I'll be talking to her on the train, now. How could this happen?

"Are there any volunteers for the boy tribute?" Effie asks the crowd. I keep my eyes on the stage. I could never ask anyone to step in and take my place, especially knowing who would be in danger were someone willing to kill her. As expected, nobody volunteers. We stand there, frozen and silent, as Mayor Undersee steps forward to read the Tready of Treason. But I haven't listened to this since my first year in the reaping.

What does all of this mean? These games are meant to show that they power is with The Capitol. They can make the children do terrible things for show. But what if we don't want to play? Katniss already showed she won't let them take her sister. She's not following their rules—she's making her own. What if I don't want to play, either? Clearly, I can't kill her. I don't think I can even let her die. I wasn't able to before.

* * *

><p>I was rolling a loaf of bread by the window when I saw a shadow creeping onto our land. I leaned closer to the window the get a closer look and there she was—the girl with the braids. She was far thinner than I had ever seen her and had a sadness about her that just didn't seem to fit. Her father had died three months before and she had gone silent ever since—no more songs. No more birds.<p>

She tiptoed toward our trashcan and peeked inside, probably searching for scraps of food. She was not old enough for tesserae yet, though she would probably be taking three in a few months when she turned twelve. The disappointment hit her face at the emptiness of our bin as my mother appeared in my reflection in the window and spotted her.

Mom threw the door open and began screaming at the girl in the braids, "Get out of here, girl! There's nothing for you!" She stepped outside and I followed slowly, hoping I would not have to step in. "Do you want me to call the peacekeepers? You brats from the seam, always looking to gain from what we've worked hard for. Well there's nothing in there for you! Get lost!" I wanted her to stop. I wanted her to go back inside and forget ever seeing Katniss there. I wanted to give her something that could help her. But I found myself just standing there, hidden by my mother's shadow, watching the girl in the braids replace the lid of our trash bin, terrified.

It was awful, watching this confident, independent girl so broken. She snuck behind out pen where we kept the pig. All signs of that girl I saw on the first day of school had disappeared, leaving a skinny, braided shell. I walked back inside, wishing I could do something—anything—to help her.

Dad was just taking some bread out of the oven when I entered. He placed them on the table next to the fire as Mom folded clothes on the other side of the room. I felt the bread—it was soft, still hot from the oven, and perfectly baked. Here we were with piles of food when this girl outside doesn't even have a bean. Without thinking. I said, "These aren't done," and reached to put them back into the oven, tripping and letting the bread fall into the fire.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" Mom screamed as I pulled the burnt bread from the fire. "That bread was perfectly good, you idiot. Now, we can't sell these tomorrow." She lifted the pan the bread had sat on and smacked me across the face with it. The heat hurt far more than the blow—it had just been in the oven.

"Now, that's not necessary," Dad started, stepping toward us, but Mom didn't hear him.

"Go!" she screamed at me. "Get that stuff out of my sight, you filthy thing." I picked up the two loaves of bread and hurried out of the house into the snow. I walked toward the pig's pen. Mom had followed me outside and was still yelling, "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not, no one decent will buy burned bread!"

I ripped off the burned edges and tossed them on the ground. The bell rang inside the store and Mom went inside, attempting to hide her frustration with me. I turned to make sure she was really gone—the last thing I needed was her questions about my intentions. The door was shut tight and I could see her shadow in conversation with a woman that lived a couple blocks away. She was not paying attention to me.

I looked back to the pig's pen, knowing I would not be able to look her in the eye. This is not how I wanted to see her, and it's not how I wanted her to see me, either. I could feel the heat radiating from the spot where I was hit with the pan. But I tossed the first loaf of bread to the edge of the pen, where she was hiding from my mom. I made sure all of the burned edges were off the second and tossed that, as well. Then I turned and headed back into the bakery, unwilling to turn back to make sure she understood. I could hear mom wrapping up her sale.

I closed the door tight behind me, wondering what was happening outside. Had she taken the bread? Was she still sitting out there, wondering what to do and how to survive? How long would it last her? Would I have to take another beating to help her—it would be worse next time. Two mistakes in a short period of time was likely to get me a lashing.

I turned from the door slowly and jumped. Dad was standing by the table next to the window, staring at me. He must have seen everything. I locked eyes with him. I watched as understanding entered his eyes and he sighed, nodding. Without another word, he turned and left the room. I returned to the bread I had been making before spotting the girl in the braids, now all signs of her gone from the window.

* * *

><p>As the mayor finishes reading the treaty, he motions for us to shake hands. I lock eyes with her as we shake, attempting to tell her silently that she does not need to fear me. I could never kill her. I will do whatever I can to keep her alive. I do not know what these next few weeks will bring. Only one thing is certain: I will not be returning from these Games.<p> 


	4. A New Goal

"Mandatory viewing tonight," Delly says brightly as she takes the bread she just bought from my father's bakery. "I wonder what it is." There seems to be a sparkle in her eye.

I am only half listening. My mind is on the cheese buns baking in the oven through the door. I want to bring them to Katniss tonight. "Probably just some Capitol interview," I shrug it off. "They need to introduce the new Head Gamemaker." Of course, Katniss and I already know the new Head Gamemaker. Plutarch Heavensbee—he introduced himself to Katniss on our Victory Tour. But I doubt most of Panem even know that Seneca Crane is gone.

"Oh," she seems disappointed for a moment but promptly pushes it aside, "well that could be interesting! I was hoping it had something to do with the wedding." Without another word, she smiles brightly again and prances out the door, letting it fall shut behind her.

The wedding. My wedding. With Katniss. The girl in the braids. It is the moment I have dreamed about for so many years. And yet, I find myself loathing the thought. I want it to be real. I want her to want to marry me as much as I have always wanted to marry her. But now she will resent me for the rest of our lives. I will always be the one she was forced to marry—the one the Capitol wants her to be with. And she will think about him—how her life would be different with him. She might learn to love me. She has already learned to like me all right. Who knows what will come? Maybe it will all work out in the end.

"Peeta?" my dad's voice interrupts my thoughts as he appears in the doorway from the kitchen, "is something burning in the oven?"

Katniss's cheese buns.

* * *

><p>I walk in the door with two minutes to spare before whatever mandatory programming of the night is set to begin. My second attempt at cheese buns are warm in the basket I hold them in as I move to place them on a table by the door. I will bring them to Katniss as soon as the program ends.<p>

"Boy, get in here!" my mom screams at me as the Capitol music begins on the television. As I move toward it, I see Caesar Flickerman standing on the stage I know so well. He is speaking to an extremely crowded room and smiling brightly as the applause dies down.

"As you might remember," he begins. The crowd quiets immediately, "a proposal occurred on this very stage a couple months ago." It seems that Delly was right. This has something to do with the wedding. "Well, the wedding of the year is quickly approaching and we are ready to choose the wedding dress!" Gasps echo around the audience as this news sinks in. "Please welcome the designer that made Katniss Everdeen an immediate success last year and continues to enchant us all. Cinna, could you come out here, please?"

Cinna steps out to a roar of applause, shakes hands with Caesar and takes a seat beside him. They chat a bit about the different dresses he designed for the event and how they narrowed the options down to the final six. All attention is then directed to a large screen, where they show a short documentary about the dresses, complete with shots of Katniss modeling them.

When I catch a glimpse of the first picture of her, my jaw drops. She looks absolutely stunning, glancing over her shoulder with white draping around her. She looks so perfect—so natural—that I almost forget it's not real. This is not what she wants, and therefore not what I want.

And suddenly I feel like I am intruding on a private moment—like the whole of Panem is seeing something not meant to be seen. I pull my eyes away from the screen and step away from my family's spot in front of the television. There are superstitions about seeing a bride in her dress before a wedding. But this goes so far beyond that. She looks so natural in the dresses. But it's all a lie. She does not want to wear any of them. She does not want this wedding to happen.

"Remember, voting closes at noon tomorrow, so vote now!" I hear Caesar's voice and know the documentary must be over. "Let's get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!" I let out a sigh. _Her_ wedding. It's not _her_ wedding. It's _The Capitol's_ wedding. We just happen to have the starring roles.

My brothers stand and move toward the bedroom. I'm about to turn off the television and leave for a long walk when Caesar speaks again.

"Don't go anywhere yet! We have another big event coming up this evening!" He is smiling at the camera as Cinna exits the stage. "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

The third Quarter Quell. How could I forget? Our first year being mentors, and Katniss and I get to deal with more pain than a normal year brings.

I turn back to my brothers, who have paused in laughter and are staring at the screen. "What do we care?" Landon asks, but his face shows fear, "we're too old now and Peeta's exempt. Our family's safe." I look to dad, thinking about the countless friends I have that are still in danger, not to mention Katniss's little sister.

Despite Landon's statement, everyone approaches the couch again and resumes their places, a solemn feeling throughout the room. I jump slightly as the anthem begins. I don't think I will ever lose the dread that now comes with the start of that music. President Snow takes the stage, followed closely by a young boy, clearly from The Capitol, wearing a white suit and carrying a small wooden box. As the anthem ends, all eyes are on President Snow, who stares into the camera with an unforgiving look on his face.

"Seventy-five years ago," he begins to a silent room, hanging on his every word, "our country was in its Dark Days, having just squashed the districts' rebellion and living in fear of another uprising. As a precaution, the Hunger Games were born in order for The Capitol to maintain power and remind the country of those lost. But the creators made an addition to the Games' rules—every twenty-five years the anniversary of the Hunger Games would be marked by a Quarter Quell. This would call for a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion."

His eyes do not shift from the camera as he speaks, as if he needs every citizen to memorize his every word. I think about District 8, where Katniss said a rebellion is currently taking place. I cannot help but wonder what they were thinking right now—whether they are shutting down or working harder.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary," President Snow continues, now to the whole crowd, "as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every District was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it." I let out an audible gasp. It is not bad enough that children are forced to be pawns in these games every year, but at one point the adults in the districts were, too. I cannot imagine having to choose who will walk to their deaths. It seems even more painful. "On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes." That was the year Haymitch won…

"So," Landon speaks again. I had not even noticed he was right behind me now, "what's it going to be this year?" I look up at him. He glances my way, then looks back to the screen. Whatever terror is about to be presented, I am supposed to help some poor boy survive it. How can I be expected to coach a kid through these horrors when I wouldn't have survived the normal Games if I had anything to say about it? At least Katniss would be there to help me.

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," I am pulled back to the screen by the ferocity in the president's voice. The boy dressed in white moves forward and opens the wooden box. It is filled with yellow envelopes. President Snow removes an envelope marked with a 75. He pulls out a piece of paper and reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Silence. Nobody's even breathing. I look over at my brothers. They're both staring at me with grave faces. My mother even looks like she's in pain. Finally, I meet my father's eyes. He is looking deep into mine, and I know he is thinking the same thing as I am. I have to go back. And this time, I'm not coming out.

Without a word, I stand and walk out the door. Before I even know where I'm heading, I'm inside Haymitch's house. He has a bottle in his hand, ready for a night of drinking when I find him in the kitchen. "I'm going in," I say, before he gets a chance to even realize I'm there.

He gives me one long look before he pops the bottle open and takes a large gulp. I'm practicing a speech in my head before he can refuse. Without a word, he motions for me to sit in the chair beside him.

I take the seat he indicated and move straight into my argument, "I failed last time. I didn't protect her. She ended up protecting me. You're a survivor and so is she. I'm not. I'll go in and make sure she comes back." He's watching me, a thousand pains in his eyes. But before he can argue, I rise to my feet, "You chose her!" I'm screaming at him—pleading. "You chose her over me last time. You owe me! I want to go back. I want to protect her. You owe me that much."

He's staring hard at me. He takes another gulp before placing his bottle on the table. "Think that's what she wants—for you to return to the arena?"

What she wants? She doesn't want any of this. She never wanted any of this. She wants to stay home and take care of her family—of Gale. "She wants to come home."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," he says as he empties his bottle. His words seem definitive, and I take it as a dismissal. I stand and walk toward the kitchen's exit.

He's popping open a second bottle as I pause in the doorway and turn back one last time. "You owe me this." He gives me one last look before turning back to his bottle and drowning his thoughts completely. Without another word, I open the door and let it fall closed behind me, hastily heading back to my house.

The house is silent when I return, and I assume everyone has gone to bed. I stop just inside the door and lean back against it. I can't believe this is happening. We cannot pull a trick like those berries again. This time, it's over for sure.

A basket catches my eye—the cheese buns. Just an hour ago, the biggest thing on my mind was getting these damn things to Katniss tonight. I kick the table the basket is on and watch as the buns pour out and land on the ground. There is no point in trying to be her friend anymore. From now on, I have one goal.

Get her home again.


	5. Another Kill

I follow behind the others as we approach the fire, sure the person who started it is long gone by now—the others are not even trying to mask the sounds of movement as they trek through the woods. They know nobody would dare attack them right now. Not with six of us traveling together like we are. My first kill replays in my head as I follow, wondering how I ended up in this pack.

* * *

><p><em>It was right after the canon blew, starting the games. I watched Katniss stumble forward, not knowing what to do. I grinned to myself, knowing that I stopped her from doing something reckless. She ran forward just to grab a small bag as I turned to run into the woods like Haymitch told us to do. That's when I saw the knife kill the boy that held on to the same bag Katniss held. I lunged forward, determined to tackle the girl now aiming at Katniss—the girl in the braids—the girl that I could not let die. <em>

_I felt a hard blow to the head and was knocked down, losing sight of Katniss and the girl from District 2. A large boy was above me, branding a large knife over my head. Impulsively, I kicked him. Hard. He fell back, the knife falling from his hand toward me. I rolled out of the way and the knife caught my arm and fell beside me. He coughed and reached for it, but I grabbed it first. In one swift motion, it was over. The boy was dead before the fear even reached his eyes._

_Still on the ground, I turned around just in time to see the orange backpack disappear into the woods—the backpack Katniss had won as the other boy died. A shadow fell over me. I turned around and rolled away just in time to avoid a spear to the abdomen—I felt a pain in my leg. It was just a pull. I gripped my knife, ready to lunge at another career—the boy from District 1, this time. He retrieved his spear and was getting ready to throw again._

"_Stop!" I heard from a nearby fighter. District 1 looked angry, but turned to the voice. I followed his gaze to the speaker. The largest career—Cato, I think—was stepping toward him, his eyes watching my knife. He whispered something to District 1, who smiled and dropped his spear hand. Did he want to kill me, himself? He approached me slowly, and my grip on my knife just got tighter. I was ready to lunge. But as he drew close, he did not raise his weapons. Instead, he held out a hand to me. "Nice work, Lover Boy," he said nodding toward the District 4 boy, lying dead behind me._

_I stared at his hand, then up at his face. He had no fear of the bloodbath going on around him. He was there, offering me life, offering me an alliance. What had he whispered to the other career to make him stop? Was it just that he wanted me to join them, or was it something more? My grip on the knife in my hand stayed tight. But who was I to turn him down? I looedk around me at people fighting. Cato's district partner threw another knife at a boy running from the cornucopia. He fell at once. Teaming with the careers would keep me safe—at least for a while. Again, I glanced at the trees where Katniss had disappeared. Maybe I could even keep the group away from crossing paths with her._

"_Thanks," I said and grabbed his hand. He lifted me off the ground and into a standing position. Then off he went into the cornucopia to kill anyone who threatened the goods he wanted for himself and his allies—including me, I guess._

* * *

><p>I try not to groan as we find the girl sleeping by the fire. "It's almost too easy," Glimmer says as we get closer. The voice finally awakens the girl and she jumps, horror filling her face when she spots us standing over her.<p>

"Please," she squeals as she ducks down in her camp, "don't hurt me." Tears are streaming down her cheeks.

Cato laughs and steps forward, twirling his sword in a circle. "Allow me," he says to the others, who back away obediently. I turn my head as the sword slashes and I hear the piercing scream. I choke, witnessing my first unprovoked kill in the Games up close. Glimmer squeals excitedly and congratulates Cato. The others give sincere congratulations, as well.

Marvel lets out an excited hoot. "Twelve down and eleven to go!" he exclaims and the others cheer. I manage a few claps while trying to keep my composure. Clove leans down the check under the girl, seeing if she had any supplies worth taking. She straight from the cornucopia by the looks of it—she has a few berries she picked up in the woods but nothing compared to the food we have at our camp.

"Not even a knife for my collection," Clove says, moving away from the girl.

"What a waste," Glimmer agrees, following Clove away. "Please tell me the next one will be more fun."

Cato shrugs, staring down at the girl. He seems disappointed, too. "Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking." Everyone agrees and we head out, into a different area of the woods from where we came.

We are several yards away when we stop. Glimmer looks back toward the area the girl was in. "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

"I'd say yes," Cato responds with a look in the same direction. "Nothing to prevent them from going immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead," Marvel reasons.

"She's dead." There's annoyance in his voice, now. "I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the cannon," Marvel retorts. Now, I am looking back at the dying fire, too. It's the first kill out of the bloodbath, but I am pretty sure the cannons are supposed to be immediate at this point.

"Someone should go back," one of the girls says. "Make sure the job's done."

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice."

"I said she's dead!" Cato is really annoyed now, as if we're questioning his very ability to kill someone.

Then everyone starts talking at once—Cato repeating that she's dead, the others talking about the cannon and checking. I feel like my head is about to burst. I turn around and look into the woods, trying to zone everyone else out. I am staring into the leaves when I see a flash of color—orange. I remember the glimpse I got of orange disappearing into the woods and realize it's her—Katniss is close by. "We're wasting time!" I scream before I can stop myself. Everyone stops arguing and looks at me. "I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

There's a rumble of agreement and I try not to look toward the trees where I saw the orange. I doubt the others would spot her—they're not as in tune to her as I've been for years—but I don't need to push it. Cato sighs but gives one small nod. "Go on, then, Lover Boy." I roll my eyes at the nickname. If only he knew… "See for yourself."

Clove hands me her torch and I head off back toward the girl, praying they don't spot Katniss while I'm gone. But she's smart. She's a hunter. She can stay hidden from the group.

As I arrive at the scene I hear it—a small gurgling sound escaping from the girl. It seems to be the only noise she is capable of as the blood drains from her. She looks up at me as I approach—terror at one of her attackers returning to her. I lean down and take out my knife. She is still crying as I bring the knife to her throat. "It will be over in a second," I whisper. Her eyes close and she swallows down a sob. I close my own eyes as the knife slits her throat. The gurgling stops immediately.

I hike back to the group, trying to wipe the girl's image from my head. She will be awarded as my kill, having finished her off. But at least she didn't have to stay there, gurgling to death the way she was. And they had nothing against this girl. What will they do to Katniss, who Cato is already so determined to catch? I find my pace speeding up as I remember that she is close by. I need to get the others away from her.

There is silence as I approach the group and I can't shake the feeling that they had been talking about me. "Was she dead?" Cato asks, arrogance in his features, thinking he already knew the answer.

"No." I say, watching his smirk fall to a grimace. "But she is now." As if on cue, the cannon fires in the distance, confirming my words. I glance toward the tree where I had seen the orange and can now see the light glow of her eye in the darkness. I need to get them away from here. Now. "Ready to move on?"

Without waiting for an answer, I take off in a run, determined not to look back at the tree. I do not need to bring any attention to it. The others follow, matching my fast pace.

"All right," Cato says from just behind me. "Let's go find Fire Girl."

"She will have gone to the water to fish," I lie. Once we're far enough away, I look back into the trees and swear I see a hint of orange far away. But that's probably just my imagination.


End file.
